


England would fall

by gothikmaus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:05:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3757225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothikmaus/pseuds/gothikmaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is tired. Lestrade is tired of waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	England would fall

Mycroft Holmes was exhausted: he looked paler than usual, had dark circles under his eyes and his voice sounded rough, as if he had talked too much and slept too little. 

_His week must have been even worse than mine_ , Lestrade thought. Lestrade, who had been summoned for a meeting at 5:30 on a Friday evening.

"It will only take a few minutes," Mycroft had assured him over the phone. "Then you'll be free to enjoy your much deserved weekend."

As he looked at Mycroft sitting stiffly in one of the elegant armchairs of the Diogenes Club, Lestrade thought he wasn't the only one in dire need of rest.

***

True to his word, Mycroft kept the meeting short and to the point: he had been out of the country for a few days – the DI had learned not to ask for details – and the new developments of Sherlock's latest case had him worried.

Lestrade wondered if Mycroft ever took any time off: from working, from looking after his infuriating brother, from whatever he did in his more obscure, unofficial roles.

"Do you ever take a holiday?"

The corner of Mycroft's mouth twitched upwards.

"Of course not. England would fall."

Lestrade smiled. He was probably right, the arrogant bastard. 

"Are we done?" he asked.

"Yes, we are. Thank you again for your invaluable help in keeping my brother in check."

"Right. I'll see myself out then."

Lestrade stood up and walked to the door, plans for the evening already forming in his mind. He would stop at his favourite Indian place, grab some really spicy curry and spend the rest of the night sprawled in front of the TV. He turned to say goodbye, but the words got caught in his throat as he met Mycroft's eyes. Lestrade had seen that look before: he had already caught the elder Holmes glancing his way with unmistakable interest; it usually happened when he thought Lestrade was too distracted to notice or, like now, when Mycroft was too tired and his iron control slipped. It had been merely a second – Mycroft had averted his gaze almost immediately – but it had been enough. 

Lestrade was tired of waiting.

"Do you like me?" he asked, hand still on the door handle.

"Everyone likes you," was the diplomatic answer. "You have a kind word for everyone and are too patient for your own good. It's a wonder you haven't strangled my brother yet."

"It's a constant temptation." He put his hands in his coat pockets and clenched his fists. _In for a penny, in for a pound_. "Do you find me attractive?"

Mycroft's reply wasn't so fast this time.

"You're a handsome man, I'm sure you don't need my opinion to confirm that."

"No, I don't. I was just testing a theory."

Mycroft tilted his head slightly.

"Really?"

Lestrade walked back and stopped in front of him.

"I saw the way you were looking at me just now. It's not the first time I've noticed."

"You've never mentioned it before."

"I'm doing it now."

Mycroft raised his chin.

"Is it going to be a problem?"

Lestrade knelt down and carefully reached out, covering one of Mycroft's hands with his own.

"Only if you want it to be."

Mycroft sat still, staring straight ahead and resolutely avoiding Lestrade's gaze. Then he sighed and leaned forward. Lestrade cradled him in his arms, feeling the tension slowly leave his body as he gently ran a hand up and down Mycroft's back.

"I'm tired, Greg. So very tired," Mycroft murmured as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Lestrade's shoulder.

"I know. You should slow down, take some time off."

"I can't. They need me."

"Who needs you?"

"Everyone."

Lestrade brought his hand to the nape of Mycroft's neck and felt him shiver.

"You may be right, but we need you alive and functioning. You're working yourself into an early grave."

"What do you suggest I do, then?"

"Go home and sleep. No more worrying about England or your twat of a brother for tonight."

Mycroft sat up and looked at him, a small smile curving his lips.

"How about a glass of scotch in front of the fire? It always does wonders to calm my nerves after I've had to deal with my 'twat of a brother', as you so colourfully put it." 

"Sounds great. Whatever helps you unwind."

"Will you grant me the pleasure of your company?"

Lestrade grinned.

"Only if we stop for takeaway first. You can have something more sophisticated, but I need a dose of extra hot chicken curry to start off the weekend properly."

The smile on Mycroft's lips widened.

"I believe that can be arranged."


End file.
